


Daisy Chain

by Adell021



Category: The Letter (Visual Novel)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, F/M, Gen, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-12-16 21:15:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11837193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adell021/pseuds/Adell021
Summary: Take a break.





	Daisy Chain

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** The Letter belongs to Yangyang Mobile.  
>  **Spoiler Warning** for The Letter. It assumes only Zachary, Rebecca and Luke have survived of the seven, Luke and Rebecca’s relationship is maxed out and is set after Chapter 7 and before _Shattered Fairytale_.

Sleep is precious commodity to the weary.

And I was _oh so_ weary. They weren’t kidding when they said that there’s no rest for the wicked. Even more so now when most of my… _wickedness_ is bared for the world to see.

So, one can’t fault me for taking what rest I can get. Even if it means trying to hide from the heat under an old oak tree. It’s another one of those rare sunny days. Though to spend it outside was not my choice. Rather, it was-

“Tío! Here’s Kylie!”

I reel as Kylie practically screams in my ear. There’s a ringing in them and that doesn’t help my near daily migraine. And I have scramble to sit up from the grass when the kid threatens to throw herself on my prone form.

Thankfully, a fiery haired hero appears. “Kylie! Indoor voice!” her chaperone shouts at her. Never mind the pot calling the kettle black, she pulls the little tyke back.

Or tries to, at least, as the brat goes to tackle me. I’ve to stop her by planting a hand on her face and keep her at an arm’s reach, just as she whines: _But we’re outdoors, Miss Pink!_

A beat. A laugh. And a shake of her head. A wry smirk too. “Point. But I still think you owe someone an apology, Kylie.”

That brings a pout and the biggest puppy eyes from the child. “I’m really sorry, tío!” she shouts again, at which I make it a point to raise a brow. “You forgive me, don’t you? Come on!”

“Alright, alright, you’re forgiven. Only because I’m _the_ fairy godfather extraordinaire.” The child is too used to me to know that I kid. But I still sigh with fake exasperation before handing Kylie a tenner. “Now, why don’t you run along and get us some ice cream?”

And she does so, with great vigour, running to a vendor with a _scream_ of thanks. 

When it’s just _Miss Pink_ and I, I realize I haven’t thought that move through. Though we laugh and smile at the kid’s antics, there’s an odd note to her voice. Her posture has gotten stiff and the look she throws me is accusing. The entire exchange is just awkward.

It’s not the sort of awkwardness one would exhibit due to a lack of familiarity either. Rather, it’s the opposite.

It’s by no means our first little playdate, after all. This is just one of the many we’ve been to since I started visiting Luxbourne. Suárez doesn’t trust Kylie alone with me. Not that I blame him.

It’s at this point that she waves around the picnic basket in hand with a cough. “Sorry we’re late. Had to make sure we had enough food to make a pig happy.”

“Excuse me? Are you calling me a pig? I’ll have you know, I haven’t gained a stone in ten years!”

“Hey, Kylie’s words, not mine,” the woman says with a small shrug of her shoulders. Though she fails to hide her smirk, it’s slowly replaced by a small frown when she starts to _look_ at me. 

She’s probably seeing the Luke Wright everyone else sees.

Yet her frown isn’t as heated as the ones I get from others… strangers who think they have any right to judge because of what they’ve heard on the telly.

And her scrutiny doesn’t make me feel like an insect on a slide either. Not like the reporters or the lawyers. She looks at me, not to discern any sort of motive. Not trying to figure out whether I’m guilty or not, no. Her look is something else.

“You better eat plenty today, alright? W- _Kylie_ got some of your favourite bread pudding. Looks like you could do with a few…” she whispers, as if the topic is some horrid secret. Not that I care. It’s not like I’ve even noticed, vanity given least priority as of late.

But I know now what she sees. It’s the same thing I see in the mirror every morning, if I can even muster up the courage to look at myself. Clothes once tailor-fitted hanging off a thinner frame, not unhealthily so but enough to notice. Hair a scruffy mess compared to my slicked back locks from before. And a pallor much paler than before along with the dark rings that weighed under my eyes.

“How are you holding up?”

I realize then that she’s concerned. And is it awful to think that it’s started to feel foreign to me? Farfetched to believe that I feel some form of relief in the thought that someone… well, cares enough to even ask?

I almost laugh.

“I’m still alive, much to the disappointment of many,” I sneer with a roll of my eyes. Of course, I’ve heard what people say. She probably has too. “Really, I’m starting to regret not throwing myself into the fire just to avoid all this trouble.” There’s an unbecoming snort from me too because why the fuck not?

Rebecca’s expression is torn. “That’s not funny. What happened to Hannah, to everyone-”

“Never said it was. Still, one can’t help but think the wrong Wright died.”

“Maybe. But whining about it won’t change matters, will it? Besides, it’s not your fault.”

If only she knew.

If the truth of what really transpired got out, I’d not see another day in the sun. Society despised murderers more than the greedy rich, understandably enough. But without evidence? Hannah Wright is just another victim of the freak fire that took the mansion.

Steele and she still think Hannah perished because of that woman. Because of the fire. And if they did know the real culprit, I can already imagine what the two soft-hearted fools would tell me. That it was the house, the ghost, that made me do it. I was probably possessed much like how her corpse had been.

Perhaps.

Yet that doesn’t stop the utter guilt-filled neurosis that overtakes my every waking moment. It’s been weeks since all that happened. What I remember most is red. I can still feel her blood on my hands. No matter how much I try to bury myself in my work and in the bottle, she haunts me. Running away from Luxbourne doesn’t help. I can only think of Hannah. My dear, sweet Hannah. I’m half crazy, all for the love of _her_.

“Hey.” She puts her hand on mine and gives it a squeeze, pulling me from my thoughts. A blessing. I don’t know how many times I’ve let myself spiral into such dark thoughts. And her smile, though strained, is the most genuine I’ve seen. “I know you’re a right persistent _bawbag_ when you want to be. You got this. And if you need a hand, I’m here.”

And I can’t help but smile.

I forget, self-centred man that I am, that I’m not the only who has lost someone. Where I lost my sunshine, I’ve no doubt in my mind that Rebecca lost her moonlight. I’m not the only one struggling through all this.

Out of all the things, people even, that would bring me the slightest semblance of comfort, I didn’t know that it’d be-

“ _Daisy_. Are you flirting with me?”

“W-Wait, what?!”

“You know, red _really_ suits you.”

“S-Shut up!”

“I’ll have you know, I demand dinner first.”

“I’m not! Flirting? Don’t be ridiculous, you numpty!”

“So, what do you say? Seven o’ clock this Saturday?”

Maybe she might be the balm where liquor just won’t do.

I know not to mistake love for obsession.

This might become one or the other. It might be neither. Either way, I’ll end up burning her in the end as well. But I’m a selfish bloke.

And if she can keep me afloat, even for a short while, I might just hold on to this daisy chain.

**Author's Note:**

> Written by: [Abigail Adel](https://twitter.com/Adell021)  
> Commissioned by: [Mippa](https://twitter.com/mippa)
> 
> This isn't too good. Six months of not writing has made me rusty...
> 
> Mippa said "I would like an adult romance without all the fantasy and fluff and such - something tangible and realistic with a good healthy dose of cynicism so when there *is* a sweet moment, it really matters."


End file.
